


Pulse

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-28
Updated: 2006-02-28
Packaged: 2019-01-19 20:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12417120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: She wonders if it was real or if it was just a dream.  Her pulse gives them hope.





	Pulse

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

"Ginny, dear, I'm off to the market to get some more raisins for the pies. Would you like anything?"

"No, Mum, I'm all right," said Ginny, turning her head towards the general direction of her mother's voice.

"I'll be back within the hour, then," said Mrs. Weasley.

Ginny waited until she heard the snap of the front door closing before she jumped up onto the kitchen counter and helped herself to a few of her mother's freshly baked cookies. She looked around the kitchen as she ate, mentally checking off the ordinary and expected objects in the Weasley kitchen: the mismatched chairs, the pots and pans washing themselves in the sink, the bowl of dough rising with the aid of a damp cloth. Her eyes landed on the family clock and she sighed.

The hands now indicated the normal whereabouts of each of the Weasleys, only swinging to _Mortal Peril_ on  
the third hour of the odd numbered days. Bill, Charlie, Mr. Weasley, Percy and the twins' hands all pointed to _Working_ , Mrs. Weasley's to _Shopping_ , and Ginny's to _Home_. Everything as it should be. The only jarring difference was the addition of Harry and Hermione's hands, both of which were added on the condition that Mrs. Weasley would only allow Harry, Ron and Hermione to leave on their quest if she could add them to the clock. "You're as good as family anyway. Might as well make it official," Ron had said with an awkward shrug.

Ginny's eyes rested on the three hands pointing to _Travelling_ before she turned away and looked out the window. The last time she saw them was on Halloween and even then, she wasn't meant to. She had been on her way to Professor McGonagall's office to book the Quidditch Pitch when she heard the low, familiar notes of her brother's and Harry's voices and the anxious tones of Hermione's as they discussed something with the Headmistress. Ginny was able to soak in Harry's haggard look for only a brief moment before they left the office by Portkey, eliminating all traces of their presence except for the drawn look on her Head of House's face.

Seeing the familiar black hair, intelligent green eyes and lanky build had done nothing to quell Ginny's thirst for contact with Harry; it only fuelled her desire to see him again. All she wanted was to be able to be with him like the night before they left. She wanted to make sure that he was real, alive, and not just a dream.

She supposes that she's been holding up better than she thought she would. There are no tantrums and fits of rage, no long periods of depression or violent tendencies. Instead, Ginny's constant companion is the sickeningly empty feeling of acceptance. Ginny would give anything to _feel_ something. She would love to hate Harry for leaving her behind and doing what he thought was _right_ and _noble_. She would love to wallow in self-pity and angst. Instead, she carries the burden of accepting what he has to do because it _is_ right and it _is_ noble. And she loves him for it.

It's not in her nature to be passive and sit back while others take action. Sometimes she wonders why she didn't fight as hard as she knew she could have to be able to go with Harry. Sometimes she lives in a world of 'What ifs' and 'I wonders,' but she never does anything about it, because she knows that she would be almost useless to them. She does nothing except to sneak a look at the picture of Harry and her together during her fifth year. A Creevey photograph that she keeps in her bedside drawer as a reminder of happier times. A souvenir of the brief vacation from reality.

She remembers the night after Bill's wedding, when Harry appeared in her bedroom at two-thirty in the morning and climbed under the covers with her, holding her tightly and whispering into her hair. He told her that he loved her and that he'd never said that before and that he would die if anything happened to her because of him. He told her that he wants her to wait for him, please Ginny, please. He doesn't think he could concentrate on anything if he thought that she left him, alone with no one to turn to, because she is the best thing in his life and he doesn't know what he'd do if she was suddenly taken away from him. Ginny had promised him that she'd never leave him, not until they had lived the full life together that they deserve, and death had taken one of them captive. They fell asleep with her head resting on his chest over his heartbeat and with his hand curled under her neck, fingers lingering on her pulse. The two of them sought comfort in the steady rhythm of life pumping through their veins, listening and feeling the emotion flowing through them. The next morning, Ginny awoke with an empty bed and a letter on her pillow, explaining why he couldn't say goodbye and that he would hopefully see her soon. The bed was still warm where he had slept.

"Ginny." It was quiet, raspy and unsure, and she would have missed it if not for the absolute stillness of the Burrow.

Ginny jumped, her eyes darting to the door. His tall and thin frame, silhouetted against the bright sunlight. Here, in the kitchen. "Harry? But... I thought you were heading towards Albania." The words fell from her lips in quiet, disbelieving whispers as though they would scare him away. Her eyes never left him as he staggered toward her, weary and looking like he couldn't believe his eyes.

Harry paused in front of her and peered into her face through dirty spectacles perched precariously upon his nose. His face was covered in grime, punctuated by streaks of sweat or tears or both. "I... I meant to Apparate to the stream to get some water and I ended up in front of the Burrow," he said dazedly, holding up a teakettle that looks as though it's been through hell and back. Harry's head snapped back up and he squinted at Ginny. "What are you doing here? At the Burrow? Where's everyone else?"

"It's Easter holidays," said Ginny quietly, gripping the countertop with intense concentration, trying to stop the butterflies racing through her stomach and the burning feeling of anticipation rippling through her skin as Harry's eyes swept over her.

"Oh. It's March, then."

Ginny's breath caught in her chest and she looked at Harry, his head filthy and bowed as he nervously fidgeted with the equally grimy kettle. "You're here," she said hoarsely. She reached up and held his cheek in her hand, gently rubbing some of the dirt away with her thumb. "You're here," she said again.

Harry moved in front of her, sighing in contentment at the feeling of _home_ that he felt. He nodded and reached out with a tentative hand to hold her neck, his thumb against her pulse, beating rapidly and conveying a message to his thumb. _You're alive. You're okay. I love you. I love you._ "You're safe."

Ginny drew in a deep breath and nodded, willing herself to not cry and resisting the strange, unfounded urge to laugh. Her heart pounded in her ears as she repeated the mantra that had kept her alive and sane since he left. _Harry's alive. I love him. Harry's alive. He loves me._

Harry silently put the kettle on the countertop beside Ginny to be able to place that free hand on her hip and shifted to rest his forehead against hers. The only sounds in the house were the ticking of the clock and their heavy and laboured breathing. His thumb hovered over her pulse, concentrating on the new message it had to deliver. _Don't leave me. Stay safe. I love you. I love you._

Ginny's mind whirled and her stomach clenched and unclenched as she fought to gain control. Harry needs this moment, she told herself. He needs to reassure himself and see that I'm okay. She mastered the desire to throw her arms around him and hold him to her until the day they died peacefully in their own bed, together and old after a life full of love and raising their own family. Boisterous, like the Weasleys. He needs that.

Instead, she ran her hands through his hair and listened to her heartbeat, slowly and steadily repeating, _He'll make it. I love him. He'll make it. I love him._

"I have to go soon. Ron and Hermione will worry," said Harry reluctantly. He felt her shudder against him at the sensation of his breath hitting her cheek. "I don't know how I got here. I thought it might have been a trap, but I couldn't _not_ go into the Burrow. I thought that maybe you might be... You're here."

"I was thinking about the last time I really saw you before you came in. Maybe you were thinking about it too, and then you changed your mind right before you Apparated," said Ginny. She reached for his hand and tugged on it. "I miss you."

Harry's head snapped up and his green gaze bore into her eyes. "I wish I could bring you back with me," he said wistfully, his lips centimetres away from Ginny's.

"So take me," she said breathlessly. "I don't have to help you do whatever it is you're doing, but I can help mend cuts and bruises or look at some idea with a fresh eye. Take me with you," she pleaded.

"I wish I could, but you're safer here and at Hogwarts. I wish I could just _be_ with you for more than five minutes, but I'll always worry if you're there. I don't even know if anything will happen to _me_. Just... Ginny, give me a reason to come back," he said, brushing his lips against her cheek.

Ginny threw her arms around Harry and drew him to her, whispering to him between kisses on his face. "I'll wait. Harry, I'll be waiting for you, okay? Don't do anything stupid. Come back to me," she said as Harry's face began to blur through her tears.

"I'll try," he whispered.

They both sighed into each other as their lips met in a familiar dance of greeting and exploration, fighting against time and winning as the clock stopped moving. The world stopped spinning and for ten brief seconds, everything was all right.

Harry was the one to pull his lips away, but his hand still hovered over her rapid pulse, tapping new hope against his fingers. _I believe in you. Come back to me. I love you. I love you._

"Harry," said Ginny thickly, wiping at tears and pressing her cheek against his chest, listening to the steady thump- _thump_ , thump- _thump_ of his heart, telling her, _You are home. You are peace. I love you. I love you._

"I have to go. Ron and Hermione will worry," he said softly, lifting her head off of his chest and tipping her chin up with shaking fingers.

"When will I see you again?" asked Ginny, not meeting his eyes.

"Hopefully before exams. We might need to see McGonagall around then," said Harry, reaching around her to grasp the teakettle.

"Promise me you'll stay safe," she said.

Harry nodded and brushed his lips against hers one last time. "I love you," he whispered, and with a _pop_ , he was gone.

"I love you too."

Ginny raised her fingers to her neck and felt for her pulse as she repeated a new mantra. _He'll win. I love him. He'll come back. He loves me._

 

* * *

 

A/n: Oodles and bunches of love to Kirsten and Linda for betaing.  You guys are my lovers. 


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